Miles Edgeworth is Never Wrong
by Write-To-You
Summary: Miles and Franziska finally get their act together in the middle of a crowded bar, both of them slightly intoxicated.


**Author's Note: I AM FINALLY WRITING FOR THIS FANDOM!**

 **It's been** ** _suuuuuch_** **a long time coming. I have love love love loved these games for a wicked long time (at least the first 3, which are also the only ones I have access to), and so I finally got down to it and wrote some fanfiction! And so here we are.**

Touching Franziska Von Karma was something that Miles Edgeworth had never really considered.

Not touching in a dirty sense. Innocent touching, so to speak; brushing her hair away from her face, holding her hand, putting his arm around her shoulders, kissing her.

It was never something that needed consideration. They were almost (though not really) siblings. When they had been younger, Franziska had been removed and cold, forever striving for perfection and considering their relationship a competition for Manfred's attention. Miles had almost seen it in the same way, until Franziska began to grow up and he began to break away from his adoptive father's strictness .

They became a little closer after that, less concerned with constantly being the best. They would sneak out after curfew together and go hit up the town, using forged IDs to get drinks and then loitering around darkened alleyways and parks until they got too tired or drunk to stay out any longer.

The two of them didn't talk much. Miles was pretty stoic, even as a teenager, and Franziska was as cold as her home country. She would sip her drink and occasionally mention a few items of relevance, which he would respond to in the same even tone.

Later, Miles left for the US, and Manfred wasn't far behind. Franziska herself followed after a little while, and that was when everything between them began to change.

Miles felt something different for her. More then a surrogate-brother or even a friend should. As a result, he felt the need to touch Franziska. He would find himself leading her out of the room with a hand on her back or her elbow instead of just a gesture, or placing a hand on her shoulder when trying to keep her calm, instead of just leveling her with a brotherly glare.

She didn't take it particularly well. She would flinch at first, then either reach for her whip, send him a look, or relax, depending on where they were, what he was doing, and what mood she was in.

Miles didn't blame her. He had grown up with a father for most of his life, a father who, albeit strict, cared about him. Franziska had never had that. There were some nights that Miles could remember where Manfred hurt her. He hated those nights, watching while Manfred threw the petite, blue haired girl across the room, or made bruises on her pale skin with his large, rough hands.

It was no wonder Franziska didn't like being touched.

Miles didn't stop trying.

It was a chilly November evening, and Miles and Franziska were at a bar, celebrating another win for the prosecutors department. Miles had had a bit too much to drink, and was a bit tipsy, clinging onto the bar as Franziska watched her vodka swirl around her glass.

She looked completely gorgeous. She was wearing a floor length, dark blue gown with a slit up one side and a deep neckline and thin straps. If Miles could have gotten a dollar for every time someone in that bar had stared at her, he could have retired from prosecution early. And given at least 50 of the dollars himself.

He reached foreword, laying his hand on her forearm. "Franziska..."

She went stiff, giving him a look. Obviously she wasn't in the same state of brave-or-stupid intoxication that he was.

Ah well. There was no going back now. "Franziska..."

"What?" Franziska snapped, her gaze now locked on his hand.

He moved his thumb, rubbing at the top of her wrist a little and leaning heavily on the table for balance. "I just wanted to say... you look really beautiful tonight. Even more so then usual."

The compliment came out a little stiff and awkward, and he searched for a moment for something else to say.

Franziska pulled her arm away, and in the dim light of the bar, Miles could see her perfect cheekbones darkening. "You're drunk, Miles."

"Maybe a bit." He admitted. "But not enough that I'm going to be saying things that aren't true."

Franziska stared down at her hands. Then she picked up her glass and downed the rest of it, as if she had just decided it wouldn't be the worst idea to join him in his said drunkenness.

"A round of shots." She ordered the bartender, who looked too afraid of her to even nod as he hurried to comply to the order.

"Look." Miles leaned against the counter and dipped his head foreword, trying to catch her eye. "Franziska... you know how I feel about you."

"I don't know how you feel about me, Miles." Franziska said evenly. "And I don't care."

"Yes, you do." He pressed, undeterred. "You can't just ignore that we've gotten closer over the past few months. A year ago this time you _never_ would have agreed to go out for drinks with me."

She glared at him, knowing that he was completely right, but not wanting to admit it. "Alright, fine. I will admit I have... how do you Americans say it? Loosened up a bit. But that has nothing to do with you, or any so called _feelings_ I have for you."

Miles frowned, unsure of what his next step was. "I-" He trailed off. "Well then. I guess I was wrong."

There was a long silence, where Miles sat back in his chair and downed a few more large gulps of his drink. Franziska was still, one hand on the table, one wrapped around her glass.

Then she turned to him, glaring with a fierceness that had Miles a bit worried for his life.

" _No_." She growled. "Miles Edgeworth is _never_ wrong."

She stood up, gripping Miles by his cravat and yanking him foreword. He tumbled off of his stool and their lips met, smashing together in a cacophony of taste and feel and colors behind Miles' eyelids.

She pulled back, resting her forehead against Miles' shoulder, and he reached foreword, gently tilting her chin. All of the fuzziness in his head had disappeared, and he was glad. He wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his life.

Franziska's frozen blue eyes were large and round. He cupped her cheek in his palm, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone.

"You're now going to take every opportunity you can to touch me, aren't you?" Franziska mumbled, lips pinched.

"Regretting your decision to kiss me?" Miles asked teasingly, reaching up to comb his fingers through her hair.

Her eyelids fluttered, like her body wanted them to close but her mind wouldn't let them. "Are you insinuating that I made a mistake?"

"Yes."

Her eyes snapped open. "Franziska Von Karma doesn't make mistakes." She growled. "And don't you forget it."

Miles smiled widely. "That's good to know."

 **Author's Note: OMG I love them. But seriously- are they supposed to be a thing? Are Maya and Phoenix even supposed to be a thing? I honestly don't know anymore... :D**

 **TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK IN THE COMMENTS! Do you want to see more of this pairing? And this fandom?**


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